Mary Watson Wants a Dog
by Lamplighter1890
Summary: Doctor Watson has a problem: his wife Mary's birthday is approaching and he is stuck on what type of gift to give her. Simple, take the problem to Sherlock - except that a murder gets in the way! A look at Holmes and Watson as they discuss a personal matter in the midst of a criminal investigation.


The hotel cafe was experiencing a brisk business, all the tables were filled, and there was a line of hungry Londoners waiting to occupy any table left to its own devices. The time was half eight, and amidst the businessmen finishing their tea, and the gentlemen and ladies out to enjoy a glorious morning, were the waiters, twisting and spinning around the tables with their laden trays, like waltzers in a crowded ballroom. And all of this was melodically tied together by the irregularly rhythmic sounds of china clinking, silverware ringing, and rise and fall of conversation and laughter.

There was one man who sat alone, quietly, drinking coffee, seemingly oblivious to the noise, gaiety, and activity going on around him. But he was not oblivious, in fact, quite the contrary, as he was taking in everything; naming the lairs in their conversations, identifying the posers amongst the businessmen, unmasking both the false and the secret romances. He found it amusing, and a lively little cafe like the one in which he was sitting was perfect to wake up his senses for what promised to be a busy day.

"Holmes, I apologize for being late," said John Watson as he pulled out a chair and joined the single, quiet, coffee drinking man.

"Quite alright Doctor, I have been enjoying myself while I waited. A busy restaurant like this, or really any public place - particularly train stations - is an excellent location to practice the science of deduction."

The waiter swung by the table asking Doctor Watson if he cared for coffee or tea, to which Watson replied coffee. The waiter nodded almost imperceptibly and continued on his way towards the kitchen, a large tray of dirty dishes in hand. Then in a flash, before Watson could ask Holmes if he would be obliged to assist him in a personal matter this morning, the smooth waiter had returned with a coffee setting.

"Enjoy your coffee Doctor, for that is all we have time for this morning. I suspect that we shall have to forgo our breakfast until luncheon as we will be engaged" stated Holmes in that staccato-like manner in which he spoke when excited or anxious.

Watson knew that voice, and as a result, realized that his morning was no longer his to plan and that his appointment book had just surrendered to a higher authorrity.

"I have already sent word to your office that you will not be in for several hours and that your patients can either be patient or can they depart until the afternoon."

Watson quietly sipped his coffee and took this pronouncement in stride, as protesting was useless, and at any rate, his interest was already aroused.

"Why can't we get good coffee in England?" thought that Doctor. During his time serving in Afghanistan, he had grown accustomed to the rich, thick, strong coffee served by the Asians and Arabs. He could only find its equivalent in some of the few foreign shops and restaurants in London.

The Doctor finished his unsatisfying coffee, Holmes placed some coin on the table, and the two were out of the cafe walking toward a cab stand, then bound for Soho. In the cab, Holmes passed a small note to Watson, explaining that he had received that just before his departure for the cafe.

 _Mr. Holmes, please come with all haste to 311 Berwick Street, Soho._

 _Inspector Gregson_

"That's not much to go on - do you have any idea what he wants?"

"I believe that he requires our assistance in a murder investigation."

"How can you tell, Gregson is exceedingly vague in his request" Watson replied with both skepticism and interest regarding Holmes' method in reading the note and its meaning.

"As you know, Gregson may be the smartest of the lot who occupy Scotland Yard, and he knows it, which means that he is always willing to take a crack at a case before admitting that he requires assistance. His professional rivalry with Lestrade helps to ensure his reluctance."

"Yes, I can certainly agree with your assessment of Gregson, but why do you believe there has been a murder?" replied the Doctor.

"Gregson is not likely to get excited over a simple theft, blackmail, kidnapping or arson. No, it must be murder."

Holmes paused a moment as Watson considered the proposition.

"Then, of course, there is the small spot of fresh blood on the note, and the unusually deep lines the pencil made as Gregson wrote."

Watson looked over the note and found the smallest drop of smeared blood on the back of the note.

"Yes, I see the blood, but what do deep pencil lines have to do with murder?"

"Simple Watson, Gregson is fastidious by nature, and if this note were written in his office, his pencil would have been sharp, but you can see that the pencil utilized was dull - very dull. He forgot to bring one of his own because he left the office is a hurry; thus the request to him must have been extremely urgent in tone. Ill-equipped at the scene, Gregson tore a page from a constable's notebook, procured his pencil and wrote this note using the constable's back as a writing desk. The dull pencil of this common bobby, coupled with the soft writing surface resulted in a deeper, duller line in the paper."

Holmes continued his narrative with the certain finality of a man confident of his conclusion.

"Gregson sent this note from the scene of the crime after evaluating his chances of solving it. He wrote hastily and had a sense of urgency in sending this note to me, which means that it was clear to him shortly after his arrival that this crime was complex. And of course Watson, there is no more serious crime than murder."

Watson handed the note back to Holmes and looked out the cab window at the people and buildings of London's streets as they dashed past. It was a glorious day, and the irony of running towards a scene in which someone was robbed of their life spark, all the while passing city streets full of people who were talking, laughing, arguing and kissing, thrilled and despondent, selling flowers or drinking ale, made him feel reflective. The people they passed slowly became a blur as if life had become a watercolor in which the pigment was gradually diluting away the closer they drew near the scene of death.

Suddenly, Watson remembered that he had a request to make of Holmes; the abrupt change of plans threw him off stride and his request was forgotten.

"Holmes, I have a favor to ask of you."

"Certainly Watson, I am at your disposal."

"You see, Mary's birthday is approaching and, frankly I could use some assistance…"

The cab stopped suddenly, interrupting Watson's statement, and the two men exited and found themselves outside a two-story block of flats with two constables on either side of the front door.

"Constable, I am here for Inspector Gregson," stated Holmes.

"Is he expecting you Sir?" replied the young policeman.

"Yes, he most certainly is."

The older constable asked Holmes and Watson to remain with him, and he nodded to his younger partner, who disappeared into the building. A moment later, Gregson came out of the building with the young constable in tow.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, so good of you to hurry, if you please, follow me inside."

The threesome went up two flights of stairs and entered a modest flat and stopped short in the front parlor. The body of a woman lay naked on the floor.

"This is the first one, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes simply nodded and started to walk around the room very slowly, carefully looking over the scene and the body.

"Watson, the victim."

Taking his cue, the Doctor knelt down on the floor and began to examine the woman's body.

"Holmes, dried blood here, behind the ear…a small puncture wound…possibly a needle…"

"Or ice pick" replied Holmes.

Watson nodded his agreement and continued his examination. Her limbs were still rigid, and the lower half of the body had collected blood as lividity had set in.

"Watson, what did you have in mind?"

The Doctor continued examining the woman as he replied: "in mind for what?"

"Mary's birthday of course, surely you have something in mind for a gift, or evening surprise…a social affair perhaps?"

"I am not entirely sure Holmes, that was why I wished your counsel, as I was mulling over a certain type of gift … oh, note the ligature marks around the woman's wrists."

"I saw this as well Doctor" chimed in Inspector Gregson.

"Inspector, I require a bit more light," said Doctor Watson, to which Gregson stepped out and called for a lantern.

"Watson, pray examine the bottom of her feet… and your thoughts on a gift were?"

"Mud…there is some mud between her toes, and her feet are dirty - wait! What's this… oh, Holmes, I was thinking of getting Mary a dog."

The Doctor took a small leather case, like a cigar case, out of his coat breast pocket and took out a tweezer which he utilized to remove some tiny slivers from the bottom of the victim's foot.

"Its metal… looks like iron shavings," stated Watson as he held the small objects up into the light.

"She has mentioned how much she likes dogs, and as a result, I have concluded that she has been dropping those statements as hints for my benefit."

"A Mastiff, or a Bull Terrier perhaps. A practical man such as yourself must see a canine companion as being able to fulfill the role of protector and guardian."

"I think not Holmes, as those are fairly large, robust breeds and I daresay we don't have the room for such a large animal. Besides, I believe that Mary wants more of a companion than a guardian."

"Gregson, take us to the next victim."

The Inspector led Holmes and Watson into another room where there was a man's body, again, naked and on the floor.

"Good Lord Holmes, look at the walls!" cried out Dr. Watson.

"I've never seen anything like it Mr. Holmes" interjected Gregson.

"Yes Inspector, it is rather unusual - Watson, perhaps a Collie. I have a man in Croydon who breeds Collies. His dogs are all top notch, and she will be the envy of every Shepard is South England."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a Spaniel… ah look, Holmes, the color of this man's lips suggest a poison of some sort."

The Doctor continued his examination of the man's body as Holmes left the room to examine the roof. Perhaps ten minutes later they rejoined forces, and Holmes announced that they had another location to attend. Holmes asked Gregson to keep him informed and that he would send word if his additional inquiries bore fruit.

"Come, Watson, we require a cab."

"Where are we off to - was there a clue in that ghastly scene that triggered our destination?"

"We are off to Islington my dear Doctor."

The two men procured a cab and were off for the twenty-minute ride through the crowded streets of London to Islington. Holmes lit a cigarette and offered one to Watson, who chose to partake as well. The two men sat in silence for the duration of the ride as Holmes was want to do when his mind was fully engaged regarding some nefarious act.

The cab made for a well turned out lane in a section of town that was full-up with large mansions and agricultural estates. The cabbie alighted from his post and opened two large iron estate gates with a great monogram of "RW" spanning them. They rode past the gates and up the long drive, and the cab next stopped in front of a large manor house, with great neoclassical columns and a beautiful brick frontage.

Holmes paid the cabbie to wait and joined by the Doctor, they rang the bell and waited upon the opening of the great front doors. The door was answered by a domestic, to whom Holmes offered an introduction, and they were shown into a front sitting parlor. They were poured a whisky and bid wait.

"Holmes, what are we doing here?"

"Patience Doctor, our purpose will become clear momentarily."

The doors to the parlor were opened and an elderly gentleman, well dressed in an Oriental silk smoking jacket and sporting great white sideburns, entered the room and closed the doors.

"Ah Sherlock, so good to see you again - its been too long," said the new arrival as he walked across the room and took Holmes' hand in a warm handshake.

"Sir Reginald, so good to see you again as well - may I introduce my associate, Doctor John Watson. Doctor, this is Sir Reginald Whitaker."

The two men exchanged handshakes and introductions.

"Sir Reginald, we are here for your assistance with a most sensitive situation."

"I see, well, Sherlock you know that you can rely on me for anything within my power to give."

"The issue at hand involves Dr. Watson. His newlywed wife has implied that she is desirous of a canine companion, and the good Doctor has decided to fulfill that wish by giving her an animal as a birthday present. But, he has no direct clue regarding her preference in a breed; thus, we are here for your expertise."

Watson looked at Holmes in disbelief. They had just examined two murder victims and were suddenly involved in a criminal investigation, and Holmes takes a detour to look into Watson's birthday conundrum?

Holmes, sensing Watson's surprise, immediately allayed his companion's concerns.

"Watson, Sir Reginald is the Chairman of 'The Kennel Club,' which happens to be the oldest kennel style club in England. There is no doubt in my mind that he will be of immeasurable assistance in the quest to find a suitable canine companion for Mrs. Watson."

"But Holmes, I must protest, we are in the middle of a murder case, and to leave the trail in favor of my search for a birthday present for my wife is quite reckless."

"Doctor, I anticipated your response, but you emotionally stopped short and failed to carry out the logic in my actions. This murder case in which we are now engaged is as dangerous an activity as we have ever undertaken during our partnership. I will need your full attention in the actions we must take, and I am afraid you will remain distracted as long as the dog issue is in question. Therefore, the quicker I can assist you in finding an appropriate breed, and possibly the right animal, the sooner we can continue our search for the murderer and the safer we will be in that undertaking."

Doctor Watson could only smile tightly and nod to his associate because there was no argument to be made: Holmes was correct of course.

"Sir Reginald, let's talk about dogs," said Holmes as he eased himself into a leather wingback chair.

The three men charged their glasses, and Holmes and Sir Reginald lit their pipes, and it became apparent to Watson that he needed to notify his office to cancel his appointments for the entire day.

It was half eight when they returned to Baker Street, as they had spent a productive afternoon speaking with Sir Reginald, then viewing his personal kennels and his collections of hounds, herding, hunting and house dogs. It certainly gave Watson a great deal to think about, as there were advantages to individual breeds, and of course disadvantages as well. Ultimately, the best advice Watson received from both men that day was to match the breed to the owner, and the best marriage between man and his "best friend" were the result of carefully considering the characteristics of both man and beast. It was a scientific process, and that was something that Watson both understood and could apply himself towards. He would head out tomorrow afternoon to a specific breeder and attempt to acquire the right dog.

Slowly walking up the stairway to number "B," the two famished men were hopeful that Mrs. Hudson had something left over from tea. Holmes insisted on returning to Baker Street in the event there was a message from Gregson.

Upon reaching the landing before Holmes' flat, Holmes stopped and held up a hand as he could hear voices inside the room. Watson froze at Holmes' signal, and could hear the voices as well; there was a woman's voice, or was it two? And laughter?

Holmes opened the door, and they found Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Watson sitting in Sherlock and the Doctor's favorite chairs. A tea service comprised of empty teacups and dirty dishes lay on the small table. The ladies were laughing when the men entered the room, and it appeared that they were having what some people referred to as "fun."

"Oh John, Sherlock, please come in!" giggled Mary Watson.

"I am sorry Mr. Holmes, but we grew tired of waiting for you to return, and Mrs. Watson was hungry, so I decide that we would enjoy our tea together."

"Quite alright Mrs. Hudson, and Mrs. Watson, so good to see you. I can see that marriage agrees with you madam."

At that, Mary Watson beamed at Holmes.

"John, I have a surprise," and with that, she reached down to the floor next to her chair. In that brief moment, Watson looked at Holmes, who merely shrugged.

When Mary sat up, she was holding a small, scruffy, little Yorkshire Terrier.

"Isn't he just adorable!"

The Doctor was speechless. Well, almost speechless.

"He certainly is my dear, where on earth did you get him?

"He was a gift from Mrs. Frampton - she is the wife of the baker, Mr. Frampton, at Gold Crown Bakery. Their dog had a litter, and we got to talking, and well, she showed me the remaining pups, and I just fell in love with this one!"

Holmes looked sideways at Watson, who could only say, "very scientific, eh Holmes."

"Quite, Watson…quite."


End file.
